The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

Monday promised to be busier than most, Gabbi realised within minutes of arriving at the office and liaising with her secretary.

  The morning hours sped by swiftly as she fed data into the computer. Concentration was required in order to maintain a high level of accuracy, and she didn’t break at all when coffee was placed on her desk.

  It was after midday when Gabbi sank back against the cushioned chair and flexed her shoulders as she surveyed the computer screen. The figures were keyed in, all she had to do was run a check on them after lunch.

  A working lunch, she decided, fired with determination to meet a personal deadline. James had requested the information by one o’clock tomorrow. She intended that he would have it this afternoon.

  Gabbi rose from her desk, extracted the chicken salad sandwich her secretary had placed in the concealed bar fridge an hour earlier, selected a bottle of apple juice and returned to her seat.

  The bread was fresh, the chicken soft on a bed of crisp salad topped with a tangy mayonnaise dressing. Washed down with juice, it replenished her energy store.

  The phone rang and she hurriedly plucked free a few tissues from the box on her desk, then reached for the receiver.

  ‘Francesca Angeletti on line one.’

  Surprise was quickly followed by pleasure. ‘Put her through.’ Two seconds ticked by. ‘Francesca. Where are you?’

  ‘Home. I flew in from Rome yesterday morning.’

  ‘When are we going to get together?’ There was no question that they wouldn’t. They had shared the same boarding-school, the same classes, and each had a stepmother. It was a common bond that had drawn them together and fostered a friendship which had extended beyond school years.

  Francesca’s laugh sounded faintly husky. ‘Tonight, if you and Benedict are attending Leon’s exhibition.’

  ‘Leon’s soirees are high on our social calendar,’ she acknowledged with an answering chuckle.

  ‘James will be there with Monique?’

  ‘And Annaliese,’ Gabbi added dryly, and one eyebrow lifted at Francesca’s forthright response. ‘Nice girls don’t swear,’ she teased in admonition.

  ‘This one does,’ came the swift reply. ‘How long has your dear stepsister been disturbing your home turf?’

  ‘A week.’

  ‘She is fond of playing the diva,’ Francesca commented. ‘I had the misfortune to share a few of the same catwalks with her in Italy.’

  ‘Fun.’

  ‘Not the kind that makes you laugh. Gabbi, I have to dash. We’ll catch up tonight, OK?’

  ‘I’ll really look forward to it,’ Gabbi assured her, and replaced the receiver.

  For the space of a few minutes she allowed her mind to skim the years, highlighting the most vivid of shared memories: school holidays abroad together, guest of honour at each other’s engagement party, bridesmaid at each other’s wedding.

  The automatic back-up flashed on the computer screen, and succeeded in returning her attention to the task at hand. With determination she drew her chair forward, reached for the sheaf of papers, and systematically began checking figure columns.

  An hour later she printed out, collated, then had her secretary deliver copies to James and Benedict. She was well pleased with the result. The reduction of a percentage point gained by successful negotiations with the leasing firm for Stanton-Nicols’ company car fleet could be used to boost the existing employee incentive package. At no extra cost to Stanton-Nicols, and no loss of tax advantage.

  It was after five when she rode the lift down to the car park and almost six when she entered the house.

  ‘Benedict just called,’ Marie informed Gabbi when she appeared in the kitchen. ‘He’ll be another twenty minutes.’

  Time for her to shower and wash and dry her hair. ‘Smells delicious,’ she complimented as she watched Marie deftly stir the contents of one saucepan, then tend to another.

  ‘Asparagus in a hollandaise sauce, beef Wellington with vegetables and lemon tart for dessert.’

  Gabbi grabbed a glass and crossed to the refrigerator for some iced water.

  ‘A few invitations arrived in the mail. They’re in the study.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling.

  A few minutes later she ran lightly up the stairs, and in the bedroom she quickly discarded her clothes then made for the shower.

  Afterwards she donned fresh underwear, pulled on fitted jeans and a loose top, then twisted her damp hair into a knot on top of her head. A quick application of moisturiser, a light touch of colour to her lips and she was ready.

  Benedict entered the bedroom as she emerged from the en suite, and she met his mocking smile with a deliberate slant of one eyebrow.

  ‘A delayed meeting?’

  ‘Two phone calls and a traffic snarl,’ he elaborated as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie.

  She moved towards the door. ‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.’

  The gleam in those dark eyes was wholly sensual. ‘I had hoped to share your shower.’

  Something tugged at her deep inside, flared, then spread throughout her body. ‘Too late,’ she declared lightly as she drew level with him.

  His smile widened, accentuating the vertical lines slashing each cheek. ‘Shame.’

  Her breath rose unsteadily in her throat as she attempted to still the rapid beat of her pulse. Did he take pleasure in deliberately teasing her?

  ‘A cool shower might help.’

  ‘So might this.’ He reached for her, angling his mouth down over hers in a kiss that held the promise of passion and the control to keep it at bay.

  Gabbi felt her composure waver, then splinter and fragment as he drew deeply, taking yet giving, until she surrendered herself to the evocative pleasure only he could provide.

  A tiny moan sounded low in her throat as he slowly raised his head, and she swayed slightly, her eyes wide, luminous pools as she surveyed his features. Her breathing was rapid, her skin warm, and her mouth trembled as she drew back from his grasp.

  ‘You don’t play fair,’ she accused him shakily, and stood still as he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

  His lips curved, the corners lifting in a semblance of lazy humour. ‘Go check with Marie,’ he bade her gently. ‘I’ll be down soon.’

  Dinner was superb, the asparagus tender, the beef succulent and the lemon tart an excellent finale.

  ‘Coffee?’ Marie asked as she packed dishes onto a trolley.

  Gabbi spared her watch a quick glance. It would take thirty minutes to dress, apply make-up and style her hair. ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Thanks, Marie. Black,’ Benedict requested as Gabbi rose from the table.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GABBI chose red silk evening trousers, matching camisole and beaded jacket. It was a striking outfit, complete with matching evening sandals and clutch-purse. The colour enhanced her delicate honey-coloured skin, and provided an attractive contrast for her blonde hair.

  With extreme care she put the finishing touches to her make-up, donned the trousers and camisole, then brushed her hair. Loose, she decided, after sweeping it high and discarding the customary French pleat.

  Her mirrored image revealed a confident young woman whose clothes and jewellery bore the exclusivity of wealth. There was a coolness to her composure, a serenity she was far from feeling.

  Which proved just how deceptive one’s appearance could be, she decided wryly as she slid her feet into the elegant sandals.

  ‘Is the colour choice deliberate?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Gabbi countered as she met Benedict’s indolent gaze.

  ‘I get the impression you’re bent on making a statement,’ he drawled, and she directed a deceptively sweet smile at him.

  ‘How perceptive of you.’

  He looked the epitome of male sophistication, the dark evening suit a stark contrast to the white cotton shirt and black bow tie.

  It was almost a sin, she reflected, for any one man to exude suc
h a degree of sexual chemistry. The strong angles and planes of his facial features bore the stamp of his character. The unwavering eyes were hard and inflexible in the boardroom, yet they filled with brooding passion in the bedroom. And the promise of his mouth was to die for, she concluded, all too aware of the havoc it could cause.

  He possessed the aura of a predator, arresting and potentially dangerous. Compelling, she added silently.

  A tiny thrill of excitement quivered deep inside her at the thought of the pleasure it would give her to pull his tie free and help discard his clothes. And have him remove her own.

  ‘Why the faint smile?’

  The desire to shock deepened the smile and lent her eyes a tantalising sparkle. ‘Anticipation,’ she enlightened him wickedly.

  ‘Of Leon’s exhibition?’

  She doubted he was fooled in the slightest, for he seemed to find her achingly transparent. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘We could always arrive late,’ Benedict suggested in dry, mocking tones, and the edges of her mouth formed a delicious curve.

  ‘Leon would be disappointed.’ Not to mention Annaliese, she added silently, mentally weighing up which might be the worst offence.

  ‘I could always placate him by making an exorbitant purchase.’

  She gave it consideration, then shook her head with apparent reluctance.

  ‘Teasing incurs a penalty,’ Benedict declared with soft emphasis.

  ‘I am suitably chastened.’

  ‘That compounds with every hour,’ he completed silkily, and saw the momentary flicker of uncertainty cloud those beautiful eyes. It made him want to reach out and touch his hand to her cheek, see the uncertainty fade as he bent his head to claim her mouth. He succumbed to the first but passed on the latter.

  Gabbi collected her clutch-purse and preceded him from the room, and, seated inside the Jaguar, she remained silent, aware that the latent power of the sports car equalled that of the man seated behind the wheel.

  To attempt to play a game with him, even an innocuous one, was foolish, she perceived as the car purred along the suburban streets. For even when she won she really lost. It didn’t seem quite fair that he held such an enormous advantage. Yet the likelihood of tipping the scales in her favour seemed incredibly remote.

  ‘How did James react to your proposal?’ Business was always a safe subject.

  Benedict turned his head slightly and directed a brief glance at her before focusing his attention on the road. ‘Small talk, Gabbi?’

  ‘I can ask James,’ she responded steadily.

  ‘I fly to Melbourne in a couple of weeks.’

  I, not we, she thought dully. ‘How long will you be away?’

  “Three, maybe four days.’

  She should have been used to his frequent trips interstate and overseas. Yet she felt each absence more keenly than the last, intensely aware of her own vulnerability, and, dammit, incredibly insecure emotionally.

  Gabbi wanted to say she’d miss him, but that would be tantamount to an admission she wasn’t prepared to make. Instead, she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen, noting the soft haze that had settled over the city, the azure, pink-fringed sky as the sun sank beyond the horizon. Summer daylight-time delayed the onset of dusk, but soon numerous street-lamps would provide a fairy tracery of light, and the city would be lit with flashing neon.

  The views were magnificent: numerous coves and inlets, the grandeur of the Opera House against the backdrop of Harbour Bridge. It was a vista she took for granted every day as she drove to work, and now she examined it carefully, aware that the plaudits acclaiming it one of the most attractive harbours in the world were well deserved.

  Traffic at this hour was relatively minimal, and they reached Double Bay without delay. There was private parking adjacent to the gallery, and Benedict brought the Jaguar to a smooth halt in an empty bay.

  Gabbi released the door-latch and slid out of the passenger seat, resisting the urge to smooth suddenly nervous fingers over the length of her hair. It was merely another evening in which she was required to smile and converse and pretend that everything was as it appeared to be.

  She’d had a lot of practice, she assured herself silently as she walked at Benedict’s side to the entrance.

  The gallery held an interesting mix of patrons, Gabbi could see as she preceded Benedict into the elegant foyer.

  Their presence elicited an ebullient greeting from the gallery owner, whose flamboyant dress style and extravagant jewellery were as much an act as was his effusive manner. A decade devoted to creating an image and fostering clientele had paid off, for his ‘invitation only’ soirées were considered de rigueur by the city’s social élite.

  ‘Darlings, how are we, ça va?’

  Gabbi accepted the salutatory kiss on each cheek and smiled at the shrewd pair of eyes regarding her with affection.

  ‘Leon,’ she responded quietly, aware that the Italian-born Leo had acknowledged his French roots after discovering his ancestors had fled France during the French Revolution. ‘Well, merci.’

  ‘That is good.’ He caught hold of Benedict’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. ‘There are some wonderful pieces. At least one I’m sure will be of immense interest. I shall show it to you personally. But first some champagne, out?’ He beckoned a hovering waiter and plucked two flutes from the tray, then commanded a uniformed waitress to bring forth a selection of hors d‘oeuvres. ‘Beluga, smoked salmon, anchovy.’

  Gabbi selected a thin wafer artfully decorated with smoked salmon topped with a cream cheese and caper dressing. ‘Delicious,’ she complimented. ‘Franz has excelled himself.’

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ Leon said gently. ‘Now, do mingle. You already know almost everyone. I’ll be back with you later.’

  She moved forward, conscious of the interest their presence aroused. It was definitely smile-time, and she greeted one fellow guest after another with innate charm, pausing to indulge in idle chatter before moving on.

  How long would it be before James made an entrance with Monique on one arm and Annaliese on the other? Ten, fifteen minutes?

  Twenty, Gabbi acknowledged when she caught sight of her father, caught his smile and returned it as he threaded his way through the throng of guests.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ He squeezed her hand, then turned to greet his son-in-law. ‘Benedict.’

  ‘Monique.’ Gabbi went through with the air-kiss routine. ‘Annaliese.’

  Her stepsister’s perfume was subtle. Her dress, however, was not. Black, it fitted Annaliese’s slender curves like a glove, the hemline revealing an almost obscene length of long, smooth thigh and highlighting the absence of a bra.

  There wasn’t a red-blooded man in the room whose eyes didn’t momentarily gleam with appreciation. Nor was there a woman in doubt of her man who didn’t fail to still the slither of alarm at the sight of this feline female on the prowl.

  Gabbi could have assured each and every one of them that their fears were unfounded. Benedict was the target, she the victim.

  ‘Have you seen anything you like?’

  To anyone overhearing the enquiry, it sounded remarkably genuine. Gabbi, infinitely more sensitive, recognised the innuendo in Annaliese’s voice and searched for it in Benedict’s reply.

  ‘Yes. One or two pieces have caught my interest.’

  ‘Are you going to buy?’ asked Monique, intrigued, yet able to portray dispassionate detachment.

  Gabbi doubted if James was aware of his stepdaughter’s machinations, or her collusion with his wife.

  ‘Possibly,’ Benedict enlightened her smoothly.

  ‘You must point them out to me,’ Annaliese purred in a voice filled with seductive promise.

  Gabbi wanted to hit her. For a wild second she envisaged the scene and drew satisfaction from a mental victory.

  ‘Numbers five and thirty-seven,’ Benedict was informing Annaliese.

  ‘Gabbi, why don’t you take Monique and Annaliese
on a tour of the exhibits?’ James suggested. ‘I have something I’d like to discuss with Benedict.’

  Oh, my. Did her father realise he’d just thrown her to the lions?

  ‘The girls can go,’ Monique said sweetly. ‘I’ll have a word with Bertrice Osterman.’

  How opportune for one of the society doyennes to be within close proximity. Gabbi offered Annaliese a faint smile. ‘Shall we begin?’

  It took two minutes and something like twenty paces to reach Benedict’s first choice. ‘It leans towards the avant garde,’ Gabbi declared. ‘But it will brighten up one of the office walls.’

  ‘Cut the spiel, Gabbi,’ Annaliese said in bored tones. ‘These art exhibitions are the pits.’

  ‘But socially stimulating, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Monique came along to be seen, and—’

  ‘So did you,’ Gabbi intercede quietly.

  ‘By Benedict.’

  She felt the breath catch in her throat, and willed her expression not to change.

  ‘Surely you didn’t doubt it, darling?’

  ‘I expected nothing less,’ she managed civilly.

  ‘Then we understand each other.’

  Gabbi extended a hand towards a row of paintings. ‘Shall we pretend to look at the other exhibits?’ She even managed a credible smile. ‘It will provide you with a topic of conversation.’

  Annaliese was, Gabbi conceded, a consummate actress. No one in the room would guess there was no love lost between the two stepsisters. And Gabbi hated participating in the facade.

  For fifteen minutes they wandered, paused and examined, before rejoining James and Benedict. Monique was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Wonderful choice, Benedict,’ Annaliese said in a deliberately throaty tone. ‘There’s a sculpture that would look incredible in the corner of your office. You must come and see it.’ She turned towards Gabbi. ‘It is quite spectacular, isn’t it, darling?’

  ‘Spectacular,’ Gabbi conceded, taking a fresh flute of champagne from the tray proffered by a waiter. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a pensive sip, then dared to raise her eyes to meet those of her husband. They were dark and faintly brooding, with just a tinge of latent humour. He was amused, damn him!